The Enigma
by reszta546
Summary: A strange woman is brought in to help Sherlock track down Moriarty. Rated M for later chapters...VERY adult content...please do not read if you are under 17/18 (Had to CYA) ***WARNING FOR NON-CONSENT IN CHAPTER 10***
1. Chapter 1

***Please note, the only character in this story I own is that of Ri. All other characters are property of their original owners*****

Post "His Last Vow"

Sherlock snarled as he glared at the straightened door knocker under the 221B.

Mycroft, he thought. Why is my brother here?

As he opened the door, Sherlock's brow furrowed. He expected to see Mycroft's lanky frame sitting on the stairs, as was his usual M.O. while waiting for Sherlock to return home.

Sherlock took another look at the knocker and pushed it to the side, so that it resumed its normal, slightly askew appearance and walked up the stairs to his flat.

Upon entering the sitting room, Sherlock's aqua-colored eyes scanned the room, taking in all of the familiar sights and the two things that were out of the ordinary.

The first thing out of the ordinary was obviously Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother and monument of the British Government. The elder Holmes leaned against the drapes of one of the large windows that dominated the far wall, staring at the street below.

No phone in his hand, Sherlock observed. This is not a personal call. Leaning against the window, outwardly appearing casual, but actually stiff, obviously under more stress than usual, here under orders instead of by choice. This, in and of itself, was not unusual. The Holmes brothers rarely spent time together by choice.

All of these thoughts bored Sherlock, so he turned to the other unfamiliar object in his sitting room.

Sitting on the sofa was a woman. Sherlock scanned her impassively. Wavy, strawberry-blonde hair fell past her shoulders. Judging by her pale complexion and green eyes, a natural ginger, he surmised. Though thoughts of this nature rarely imposed themselves on his deductions, Sherlock noticed her slim, yet shapely body. Narrow waist, the fullness of her breasts beneath the emerald-green jumper that set off her eyes so perfectly, the curve of her hips and legs visible through her jeans, the perfectly manicured hands ending in nails the color of blood. Client? No, he thought, she doesn't have that look of apprehension and desperation clients have as they sit there. By her appearance, she isn't British, but has spent a fair amount of time in the London area.

Mycroft interrupted this stream of thought by turning away from the window to face Sherlock.

"It's about time, brother mine," Mycroft drawled. "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to come home at all, and that would have been awkward."

"Had I known you were here, _brother mine_," Sherlock growled. "I would have been sure not to."

The woman shifted her gaze between the two brothers, a small smile of amusement on her pink lips.

Sherlock turned his attention back to the woman, which was a mistake. He noticed the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks, and one right above the cupid's bow of her lips. Her lips. They were turned up in the slightest smile.

The woman noticed him looking at her. The half-smile was gone and she was biting her lower lip, making it plumper and pinker. She looked at up at Sherlock from beneath her long lashes, blackened with mascara. He could see a slight blush creeping across her cheeks, like she knew what he was thinking.

Mycroft's voice brought Sherlock out of his contemplations.

"This is Ri," Mycroft said, indicating the woman on the sofa. "She will be assisting you in your search for Moriarty."

"I don't need an assistant," Sherlock snarled.

He instantly regretted the words as they came out of his mouth. He spared a quick glance at the woman and saw that she was no longer biting her lower lip. Instead, a confident smile spread across her face, making the corners of her eyes crinkle.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice Mr. Holmes," Ri informed him.

She's American, Sherlock thought, but her speech was a melange of regional accents. Well traveled. He thought he detected the smallest amount of British accent in the words.

"If you think because my brother wants you to help me," Sherlock spat out, but the rest of the sentence was cut off.

"I'm afraid the elder Mr. Holmes doesn't have a choice either," Ri said wryly.

Definitely a hint of a British accent, Sherlock thought.

"I will be assisting you with this case at the request of Her Majesty herself," she continued. "I promise I can actually be of some use to you in this matter. I have contacts in various intelligence agencies around the world and extensive contacts among the, let's say... _less civilized _parts of Eastern Europe. I'm quite skilled at collecting information that other people may not be able to access, and I designed the CIA's cyber-security, which means I know exactly how to get in undetected."

"You mean you're a hacker," Mycroft stated, with barely disguised contempt.

"It is one of my many talents, yes," Ri responded flatly, her nostrils flaring slightly in anger.

Sherlock was impressed. Very few people stood up to his brother, and even fewer got away with it. He resigned himself to the fact that he would be having to spend more time with Ri. Maybe that wasn't a bad thing after all, he thought.

"Since John no longer requires your spare room, Ri will be staying here until her services are no longer needed," Mycroft quipped.

Sherlock couldn't keep the surprise from showing on his face.

"Perhaps she will be able to get you to clean this abomination you call a flat," Mycroft drawled, as he ran a finger over the window sill. He looked at Sherlock in disgust, daring Sherlock to say something.

Mycroft picked up his coat from the back of the chair it had been resting on and tucked his umbrella under his arm.

"Until next time, brother mine."

Sherlock said nothing, watching Mycroft walk out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

***The only character I own in this story is Ri, all others belong to their original owners***

Sherlock threw his lanky frame into his favorite chair, long legs splayed out, his arms draped casually over the sides of the chair. His dark curls tumbled slightly down the back of the chair as he leaned his head back, his bottom lip slightly out and his eyes hooded. The famous coat spread out behind him.

Even with out Sherlock's famed powers of observation, Ri could see that he was pouting. Awesome, she thought. My new flatmate is a genius 4-year-old.

Sherlock stole a sideways glance at Ri. He told himself it was just to see her reaction to his mini-tantrum. His mind was betraying him, instead of noticing her reaction, the first thing he noticed was how the sunlight from the window shone on her hair, making it look like she had rivers of gold flowing down her long, creamy neck, accentuating her collarbone. A feeling of horror came over Sherlock as quickly realized he was no longer just looking at the strange woman out of the corner of his eye. He had turned his entire head and was blatantly staring at her. The most disconcerting part was that she was staring back at him.

"Well," she said, with a smile. "You're dying to say it, so go ahead. Deduce me. The odds of you offending me are very slight."

"I promise I could offend you if I tried," he responded curtly.

He immediately regretted the tone of his response. For some reason, the thought of offending his new flatmate disagreed with him. Why should I care what this woman thinks about me, he thought. I don't want a new flatmate. Obviously his last flatmate hadn't worked out, as John was now married and living in the suburbs.

Sherlock sat up and turned to look at the strange woman with whom he was now, albeit reluctantly, sharing a flat with. He looked her up and down, lingering on her striking green eyes, the fullness and curve of her pink lips, how the pieces of skin he could see were a creamy porcelain. Her skin looks very soft, he thought. To distract himself from these thoughts, he sneered and began his deductions.

"You are American, but you have moved often, even outside the United States. Your accent is a mix of American regional dialects, but you are good with languages as you have subconsciously been adding British inflections. You are wealthy but you try to hide it, suggesting you don't get along with your family. You are familiar with London, suggesting you have spent time here before and I would imagine you use British slang without noticing."

Ri smiled haughtily.

"Almost correct," she said.

Sherlock did a double take.

"Almost? I'm very rarely wrong."

"I'm not American, though I did grow up there. I'm actually from Monaco. I have lived in America, Asia and Europe. I speak French, Italian, German and English fluently, with enough Russian and Spanish to get by. I did spend a fair amount of my youth in London. My brothers were at Eton, and I would come on holiday to spend time with them. I'm actually not wealthy, but you were correct in assuming my family is." Ri frowned as she mentioned her family. "I'm a bit of the black sheep of my family. I don't really care to cow-tow to them, and as punishment for my disloyalty, I'm cut off from the family funds. Fortunately for me, I am actually able to support myself."

Sherlock's face softened. He understood not getting on with family, of always being a disappointment. At least in that fact, they were alike.

"Look, I'm exhausted, jet-lagged and I would just about kill someone for a hot bath," Ri sighed, massaging her aching shoulders. "My luggage got lost, so if I could borrow a towel that would be amazing."

As he walked to pull a clean towel out of the linen closet, Sherlock tried very hard not to imagine Ri naked in the bath.

Ri, took the towel with a tired smile. She walked into the bathroom, turned the tap on nearly as hot as it would go and lowered her body into the steaming water. She couldn't help letting out a moan as the heat enveloped her body. Transatlantic flights always left her body tight and sore, sitting for hours in the cramped seats of the coach section. Travel to London was much easier in my youth, she thought sardonically. Private jets are much more comfortable than coach. It would have been nice of the Crown to at least spring for business class.

The steaming water had done its job, her muscles had loosened. The exhaustive combination of the trip and jet-lag took its toll as Ri's eyelids got heavier and heavier. Sighing, she decided to abandon the comfort of the tub for a bed. I feel like I could sleep for a week, she thought.

She dried off and considered putting her jeans and jumper back on to walk upstairs to the room that had previously belonged to John Watson, but decided she didn't really care if it bothered her new flatmate. Damn these puritanical Brits and their fear of nudity. Ri wrapped the towel around her, picked up her clothes off the floor and opened the door.

Ri wasn't really paying attention as she walked out of the bathroom. All she could think about was making up the stairs and collapsing into bed. I really hope there are at least sheets and a blanket on the bed. Pillows would be nice, but I'm too tired to be greedy. She didn't notice the fact that Sherlock's eyes followed her from the moment she walked out of the bathroom until he could no longer see her as she went up the stairs.

It wasn't long before Ri reappeared in the sitting room. Sherlock hadn't moved out of the chair, his chin resting on his steepled fingers, eyes closed. He heard her enter the room, but didn't open his eyes. He was too busy concentrating on how to solve the Moriarty problem.

He didn't acknowledge her when she softly cleared her throat. He knew she was trying to get his attention, but, for some reason, he needed to convince her that she couldn't command his attention, that she was unimportant in the scheme of Sherlock's life.

"Mr. Holmes? Do you have any spare sheets and a blanket?"

"As we are now flatmates and I do not even know your surname, you may call me Sherlock," he said flatly, without bothering to acknowledge her in any other way.

"Fine, _Sherlock, _do you have a spare set of sheets and a blanket," Ri responded icily.

Still mostly ignoring her, he waved his hand in the direction of the hallway.

"There might be some in the hall closet."

He could tell she was getting frustrated. Good, he thought, maybe she'll leave me alone now. For all he tried to convince himself that alone was what he wanted, Sherlock couldn't keep his thoughts from drifting back to Ri. The only other woman that had ever had a similar effect on him was The Woman. Of course, he reasoned with himself. The reason I keep thinking about her is I was wrong in my deductions. She is an enigma.


	3. Chapter 3

***I do not own any of these characters, excepting Ri.***

As the weeks passed, Sherlock and each fell into a routine of sorts. Sherlock would disappear to meet with his homeless network or to visit Molly Hooper in the morgue at Bart's hospital, begging for spare body parts the way a panhandler begs for spare change. Ri would spend hours on her computer, scouring the digital world for signs of Moriarty. Sometimes she would spend days out of the country, meeting contacts in the shadowy alleys of cities that had few vowels in their names.

Occasionally, they would be unoccupied at the same time. Ri would cook and try to convince Sherlock to eat. They discussed literature and music and scientific discoveries. Sherlock had to admit he found his new flatmate to be a more cerebral companion than John, and an able assistant for some of his more difficult experiments. He still couldn't completely deduce her, and that irritated him.

Ri returned to the flat after a very disappointing meeting in one of the former Soviet republics. What she thought was a promising lead turned out to be a wild goose chase, and she wasn't in the best of moods. She thought the flat was deserted and decided to go to bed. I'll start again in the morning, she thought. I'm too tired to deal with this crap right now. She walked up the stairs to her bedroom, shedding her clothes as soon as she was properly in the room. The night was warm, so instead she forewent her normal sleep attire of yoga pants and opted to just sleep in a tank top and panties. She was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

What seemed like a lifetime of danger had left Ri a light sleeper, and the walls of 221B Baker Street weren't all that thick. She didn't know what had initially awoken her or what time it was, but quickly realized that the sounds were coming from downstairs. She was on her feet and in the sitting room before her brain had time to decipher the noise. As she got closer, Ri realized the sounds were of a man moaning in terror, and they were coming from Sherlock's open bedroom door.

Silently she made her way down the hall, keeping alert for signs of danger. Cautiously she slipped into Sherlock's bedroom. The dim light from the hallway fell across his bed. Ri allowed herself to relax when she ascertained there was no one in the room but Sherlock, in the midst of what seemed like a hellish nightmare. He was thrashing about, tangled in the sheets, crying out.

Sherlock was running through the streets of London. From every window, Jim Moriarty's face laughed at him. He could hear someone behind him, chasing him. As he turned a corner, Moriarty became Charles Magnussen, standing in the middle of the street. Magnussen held a gun to John's head and pulled the trigger. Then John was replaced by Molly Hooper and Magnussen pulled the trigger again. Over and over Magnussen pulled the trigger on all of the people he cared about. Mycroft stood on the sidewalk, glaring disapprovingly at the scene.

"Caring is not an advantage," Mycroft scoffed.

"Noooo," Sherlock moaned.

If there was one thing that Ri understood, it was nightmares. Not all of her work happened on a computer. In the darkness there were times her mind betrayed her, recalling ghosts of people she couldn't save. Or people who's lives she had to take.

"Sherlock," Ri ventured softly.

She moved closer to the bed, leaning down to put her hand on the writhing man's shoulder.

"Sherlock?"

He didn't wake, but seemed her voice seemed to calm him a bit..

She sat down on the side of the bed. He looks so afraid, she though, as she reached across to push a stray curl off his sweaty forehead. Now, instead of his entire body undulating, only his head moved from side to side, he was still moaning incomprehensibly.

Ri continued to stroke his forehead, trying to soothe him out of the nightmare, but it wasn't working. Sherlock started to thrash wildly on the bed again. Instinctively, she lay on the bed beside him and wrapped her arms around him, holding him still. His breathing was still ragged and he still mumbled incoherently, but he finally grew still, turning toward her in his sleep and settling against her.

She held him until his breathing was calm and regular. Once she was satisfied the nightmare had passed, Ri tried to untangle herself from Sherlock so she could return to her own bed. When she attempted to move her arms from around his body, he pulled her in closer, refusing to let go.

"Stay," he murmured sleepily. "Please?"

Sherlock slid his arm under the pillow Ri had her head on and placed his other arm around her slim waist. Ri turned over so that her back was against him, perfectly mirroring his body. She could feel the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck as he pressed up against her, pulling her tight. As if she was the lifeline that had been thrown to a drowning man.

The last conscious thought Ri had before falling asleep in his arms was the realization that Sherlock slept in the nude.

**Author's note - Please leave me some reviews! This is my first fic, and I want to know what all you lovelies think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Still none of my characters except Ri**

Sherlock was confused. His mind was still halfway between sleeping and waking, but he knew something was off. The more his brain came into focus, the more he was aware of the strange pressure against his body. He vaguely remembered waking up in the middle of the night. His arms were wrapped around something warm and soft. He smelled roses. Ri used rose-scented shampoo and conditioner. The thought came unbidden to his mind.

Whatever he was holding moved. Sherlock's eyes flew open. He stared at the reddish-gold locks and creamy porcelain skin in disbelief. Then he remembered. The terror of the nightmare, and the woman who gently stroked his hair and held him in her arms until the phantasms tormenting his sleep subsided. He asked her to stay, and she did. No, he corrected himself, he begged her to stay.

He raised himself up, supporting his weight on his elbow to get a better look at Ri. Her luscious pink lips were slightly parted, breathing slow and rhythmic, indicating she was still asleep. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid that tumbled down her back. The loose tank top she wore had slipped off her shoulder, revealing the top of her milky breast. Fabric the color of a tropical ocean seemed to be clinging to her areola and nipple, stubbornly shielding them from Sherlock's gaze. He was suddenly aware of her buttocks pressing pleasantly into his pelvis and how soft the skin on her legs were as they tangled with his.

Before he knew what he was doing, Sherlock's lips were on the nape of Ri's neck, gently kissing her. She made a soft noise and turned her head into the pillow, exposing more of the skin for him to press his lips against. He was acutely cognizant of the fact that with each kiss, her back arched so that her arse thrust more firmly into his groin.

Sherlock hastily moved his lips away from her and gently disentangled his body from hers. She sighed softly, but didn't wake. The fact that he was naked didn't disturb him. It was the fact that he had felt pleasure because the body of this infernal woman was pressed against his. The thought shamed him. He was Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. Emotions like gratitude, affection and the hormones of lust clouded his intellect and had no place in his highly logical mind.

He dressed quickly and quietly, needing to get away. Away from this woman who made him feel things he swore he would never feel, away from the part of him that wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his bed and pull her tightly into his arms, away from the knowledge that if he did, he would never let her go.

It was still an hour before dawn and there was a light rain falling, but Sherlock didn't care as he stepped into Baker Street. He didn't know or care where he was going, as long as it was away from _her_.

The click of the door closing startled Ri out of her slumber. For a moment, she didn't know where she was. A hotel in some Slavic country? Then it came to her. She was in Sherlock's bed. He was gone, but the space next to her was still warm from his body. She pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

Oh my God, she thought. I slept in Sherlock's bed nearly naked. And he was naked! This was very bad. Did he think she did it on purpose, she wondered? Sure she found him incredibly attractive. Who wouldn't, with those dark curls, the long fingers, the deep baritone voice, the cheekbones you could cut glass with, and his eyes. Ri thought his eyes were the sexiest thing about him, the way they were the perfect combination of blue and green and gold. The way they seemed to pierce to the very core of a person. The intelligence behind them. Who ever said brainy is the new sexy had to be thinking about Sherlock Holmes. Fortunately for her, a lifetime of hiding things left her fairly confident she had hidden her attraction for him. She was almost positive he didn't know.

Ri wasn't necessarily bothered with the fact that he was naked or that she nearly was. She was from the Continent, and her views on the human body were much less uptight than the Brits or their American counterparts. She was much more concerned that Sherlock would read something more into it.

As attractive as she found him, she wasn't stupid. She knew what he was like, how he valued the rational and the logical. How human emotions were so foreign to him. Ri knew that he would never see her as a woman, an object of desire. As anything other than the occasional cook, assistant and calmer of nightmares. She understood the dynamic that their relationship had to have. Friends, colleagues, nothing more. She knew how Molly Hooper had pined after him for years, never giving up hope that he would one day see her as a lover. And Ri knew that someday, after they found Moriarty she would leave. Off to her next assignment.

The sky was just beginning to lighten, so Ri decided to go upstairs and try to get a few more hours of sleep.

Sherlock walked for hours, trying to settle his thoughts. The light rain had turned into a torrential downpour. He was angry. Angry at her for getting inside his head, for making him feel, for clouding his mind. Angry at himself for letting her into his head, for letting her see him in a weak moment. He was tired, and hungry, and soaked. He wanted to hail a cab to take him home, but realized he left without his wallet. So he turned around, retracing his steps. Silently begging the universe for her not to still be in his bed.

Determined to ignore Ri, Sherlock slipped quietly into the flat. He warily walked down the hall to his bedroom. She was gone, the only clue she had spent the night in his bed was the indentation on the pillow. He stripped his clothes off and left them in a sodden pile on the floor. He started toward the bed, then turned and closed the door, locking it before falling into bed.

Damn it, he thought. I can still smell her. And with that, he gave into the nothingness of an exhausted sleep.

***Author's note - The more feedback I get, the more I'm inspired to write! Leave me a review please!


	5. Chapter 5

Here's a tease for you lovelies! Leave me some comments and if you're lucky you'll get the rest of the chapter before I go to bed...

****I do not own any of the BBC's Sherlock characters****

For the next few weeks 221B Baker Street was filled with a palpable tension. Sherlock pointedly ignored Ri. Any conversation between the two was terse and rarely ventured outside of the necessary speech required for daily living.

Ri understood that Sherlock was uncomfortable with what had passed between them and gave him a wide berth. She didn't take offense at his aloof and almost cruel behavior toward her. She knew any form of emotion was entirely alien to him and the fact that he needed someone that night was abhorrent to him.

For his part, Sherlock was conceitedly assured that he had proven his point. He had no need for Ri or anyone else. And he had convinced himself that pleasure and longing he felt for her that night were a one-time occurrence, an anomaly in his otherwise cold and logical world.

Sherlock returned to the flat one afternoon from meeting some of his homeless network. He hated having to enter the sewers to locate some of the more reticent spies he employed. Returning to London's surface, Sherlock always felt so dirty.

Catching his reflection in the sitting room mirror, he decided he needed a bath and a shave. Then he would check on some of his experiments in the kitchen. He glanced around and didn't see any sign of his flatmate. He walked down the hall to disrobe in his bedroom when he noticed the bathroom door was closed. He paused in front of the door, listening to the sound of the running water in the shower. How inconvenient, he thought. Maybe I can make her uncomfortable enough to leave if I join her.

Sherlock kicked his filthy shoes off and quickly removed the jacket of his suit, flinging it on the chair in his bedroom. His white button down shirt and trousers quickly followed.

He opened the bathroom door silently, slipping into the room. He hoped to startle her when he entered the shower. He was flabbergasted at the emotions that flooded through him upon beholding her naked body for the first time.

Ri stood under water, eyes closed. Sherlock took in the sight of the rivulets coursing down her breasts, dripping off her nipples and continuing across the taut skin of her stomach. As his eyes continued down her body, he noticed a small mole to the right of her belly button, the projection of her pelvis bone under her skin and the small tuft of neatly groomed red hair between her legs. From what he had seen of pornography on John's laptop, he believed the latest fashion for women to be the removal of all pubic hair. Sherlock could not understand the pleasure he felt at the realization that she had left herself partially natural.

Without opening her eyes, Ri spoke.

"Can I help you?"

"I needed a bath and you were taking too long," Sherlock replied, making sure to keep his voice cold and clinical.

Ri opened her eyes and smiled.

"For future reference, Mr. Holmes," she purred. "When I share a shower with a man, I'm usually getting more out of the relationship than free room and board."

She picked up the shampoo, poured some into her hand, twisted to the side and allowed Sherlock to move past her, under the water.

Sherlock washed himself quickly, planning on making a quick exit from the shower when the two of them switched places again. He turned around to see Ri waiting patiently at the other end of the tub for him to finish. Her eyes were closed again and the soap bubbles drifting lazily down the contours of her body. He moved to the side to let her back under the water, and stood at the back of the tub, watching her rinse the shampoo from her hair and finish bathing herself.

"You know, it's ok to look," Ri whispered shyly, eyes still closed. "Having feelings doesn't make you a bad person. You could even touch if you'd like."

Sherlock couldn't contain his surprise.

"How did you know?"

Ri opened her eyes, allowing herself to look at him directly for the first time.

"You finished bathing five minutes ago and you're still here."

Cautiously, Sherlock reached out his hand and gently traced her mouth with his fingertip. The only response Ri allowed herself was the slight parting of her lips. The urge to take that long, slender finger into her mouth and suck on it was nearly overwhelming, but she fought it, holding body completely still. She knew that Sherlock needed to be in control, to set the pace. She wouldn't force him to do anything.

His hand slipped down her throat, lightly stroking the skin, drawing across her collarbone and down to the fullness of her breasts. He grazed the dark pink area around her nipple, observing how the skin tightened under his touch and how the nipple immediately hardened, forming a stiff peak to the supple curve. Goosebumps erupted across her skin, but Sherlock couldn't tell if it was from his touch or the fact that the water pouring from the shower head had begun to cool. He calculated they only had 3 more minutes until the shower was ice cold.

Sherlock reached behind Ri and turned off the water. He opened the curtain and stepped out, handing her a towel and grabbing one for himself. Ri looked at him questioningly.

"If we are to continue this," Sherlock paused, searching for the right word. "Experiment, we might as well relocate somewhere more comfortable."

He wrapped the towel around his waist and walked to his bedroom. He didn't need to check that she was following him, he knew she was. She thought she hid her attraction to him, but he saw it.

He flipped on the overhead light and sat on the foot of the bed. Ri stood in front of him, close enough for him to touch her, but not inside of his personal space. She removed the towel wrapped around her and tossed it lightly to the floor. Water still dripped from her hair, leaving moist trails down her back and shoulders. Sherlock traced the path of one of the trails as it made its way down her breast, pausing briefly at her erect nipple before continuing down her abdomen. He raked his fingernails gingerly over the protrusion of her hipbone.

He stood up, pulling her to him. He clumsily crushed his mouth against hers.

Sherlock was confused when he felt her body stiffen against him. She didn't pull away, but he was suddenly very aware of her dislike of the action. He moved away from her again.

"I, uh, don't really, um," Sherlock stammered, a light pink blush spreading across his cheeks.

He took a deep breath and continued more calmly.

"Outside of a morgue, I don't have much experience with the female form," he stated flatly, looking away from her.

A small smile crept across Ri's face at his embarrassment. Sherlock looked up to see pity briefly flash in her eyes.

"I'm not a virgin," he said defensively. "But my experience is possibly _less thorough_ than you are used to."

"May I," Ri queried, indicating the bed.

Sherlock curtly nodded his assent.

Ri settled herself on the bed, laying on her back.

"Come here," she said, pointing to the space next to her.

He did as he was told, awkwardly laying beside her. She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. Ri began to softly trace his jawline. He turned to face her. The feeling of her fingers on his skin was electric.

"If you tell me to stop, I will," she said. "Anything you find uncomfortable, tell me and I'll stop."

Sherlock nodded his understanding.

"I'm going to kiss you now," she said.

Ri sensed that telling him exactly what she was about to do would make him more comfortable. She leaned in and gently placed her lips against his. She began to lightly suck on his bottom lip. He responded to her touch, placing his hand in her hair.

Sherlock let out a guttural moan as her hands intertwined themselves in his curls. He parted his lips and tentatively probed her mouth with his tongue. She greedily accepted him, delicately alternating between sucking on his tongue and using her own to explore his mouth. He rolled toward her, placing his hand on her hip and pulling her closer to him.

Ri pulled her body away from him and sat up. He opened his eyes and moaned again at the loss of contact.

"Sit up, I want to show you how and where I want you to touch me. You can use your mouth or your hands or both. Ok?"

He sat up, waiting for her instruction.

She took his hand in hers and ran his fingers from her jaw, down her throat and to her collarbone.

"In situations like this," she patiently explained. "My neck becomes very sensitive. Would you like me to demonstrate?"

Sherlock stammered out his acquiescence, craving her lips on him again.

Ri began to move her lips across his jaw and down his throat, alternating between light kisses, gentle sucking and quick flicks of her tongue. She felt his body strain against her. She moved down his muscular pecks. As she came to his nipples, she increased the pressure, sucking harder and gently running her teeth across them while her hands grazed across his stomach. Sherlock's eyes closed in satisfaction and his mind went blank, the sensations of her mouth on his body were the only thing that registered.

Suddenly her mouth and hands were gone. His eyes snapped open, hungry, silently begging her to continue, but he understood. It was his turn.

He pushed her back against the bed, mirroring the movements she showed him on her body with his hands, following them with his lips. He was gentler than she had been, not sure how much pressure he could exert before he hurt her.

She growled frustratedly.

"Sherlock, I promise I will tell you if you hurt me. I'm not going to break."

He suckled her nipple with more force, raking his tongue across it, nipping lightly.

"Harder," she moaned.

Sherlock happily obliged, biting down almost hard enough to break the skin. Ri writhed in appreciation under him. Her gyrations under his touch caused the blood flow to increase to his groin, hardening his shaft. With some difficulty Ri pushed him away.


	6. Chapter 5, part II

****AUTHOR'S NOTE: As promised, here's the rest of chapter 5. Much like Ri and Sherlock, I'm spent! Again, I don't own and of the BBC's Sherlock characters. I just abuse them for my own (and your) pleasure. I'm off to take a cold shower now! Leave me a review!****

"Have you ever performed cunnilingus," Ri asked breathlessly, trying to calm herself enough to continue her instructions.

Sherlock shook his head, unable to speak. Ri looked at him. His breathing was heavy and his erection was straining to escape the towel that covered him.

"Hmmm," she said thinking aloud, trailing her finger down the line of hair below his belly button, stopping as she reached the top of the towel. "I guess that means you have a choice to make. I can either show you what I would like you to do with your mouth, or I could _service you._"

"I don't think I would last if you serviced me," he responded huskily. "Show me."

Ri smiled wickedly.

"No, I don't think so. I think the fact that you won't last could be a good thing. Giving you a release now means you'll last longer later."

She hooked her finger under the towel and pulled, releasing his erection.

"Put your legs over the side of the bed," she commanded him.

The only response he could get out as he obeyed her was a moan of anticipation.

Ri slid off the bed and positioned herself on her knees in front of him. She pressed his legs apart, moving in closer to him. Her hair tickled as she dragged her lips and fingernails up the inside of his thighs. Sherlock leaned back slightly, resting on his arms to allow her easier access to his throbbing member. His erection was bobbing in expectation of her touch. She ran the tip of her tongue up the seam of his scrotum, then the underside of his shaft. Then she took his head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the area where the glans and shaft came together. She gently sucked at the tip of his cock for a moment, then moved away. He was bigger than she expected. Long and thick. It's a good thing I don't have much of a gag reflex, she thought.

Sherlock's head was thrown back in ecstasy, his mouth open. She waited patiently for him to look at her, which he did.

"I'm going to take all of you into my mouth now. Once I get started, you can put your hands on my head to let me know how fast and deep you want me to go or I can hold still and allow you to control the intensity. I can see you're enjoying this, but I've found that for most men, watching my mouth work on you adds to the pleasure."

Sherlock couldn't speak, but kept his eyes on her as she wrapped her mouth around his organ. She lowered her head until his entire length was inside her mouth, his head brushing against the back of her throat. She was sucking hard and running her tongue up and down his shaft as she raised and lowered her mouth slowly on his erection. The heat and moisture of her mouth was exquisite. He placed his hands on the side of her head, holding her still as he pumped his cock in and out of her mouth, harder and faster. His body stiffened and his breathing became quick and shallow as he neared his release. With an animal cry, the spasms of orgasm tore through Sherlock's body. His arms fell to his sides from Ri's head, but she didn't release him. She continued to gently tongue and suck his cock, massaging his testicles lightly until the spasms subsided.

Sherlock lay back on the bed, spent and oblivious. He didn't notice Ri move off his shaft, now soft and flaccid and wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. She sat on the bed, pulling his head into her lap. She softly stroked his curls until his breathing became less labored and he came back to reality.

The first thing he noticed as he came to was how amazing her hand felt as it wove its way through his hair. He opened his eyes to the sight of her perfect breasts dangling tantalizingly close to his face. He was still too spent to speak, but managed to murmur his appreciation to her.

Ri lay down, moving Sherlock's head to her stomach. He reached his arm around her, nuzzling the skin of her abdomen. They lay like this for a while, his breathing slowly returning to normal and he felt his energy renew.

"Mmm," she moaned. "That's nice."

"I believe you promised to show me how to please you," he said, twisting his head toward her breast and gently taking it in his mouth.

"Ohhh," was the only thing she could manage to get out.

He released her breast and resumed a seated position next to her, looking at her expectantly.

Ri looked at him, his confidence had returned. The orgasm had taken away the shy embarrassment. His eyes swept up and down her body hungrily.

"Well," she started, moving her hands along her throat. "I've all ready shown you how sensitive my throat gets."

She moved her fingers to her breasts squeezing them, tracing the outlines of pink skin, rolling the nipples between her finger and thumb until they were erect again.

Sherlock could feel the blood begin to rush back to his groin as he watched her touch herself. He couldn't help himself has he reached out to replace her hands with his. She slid her hands down her stomach, stopping at the area inside the pelvis.

"This area becomes extremely sensitive when I'm aroused," she explained.

Sherlock bent over her and began to lick and kiss the spot she indicated. Her hips bucked up to meet his kisses, undulating at the touch of his mouth. She forced herself to be still and he moved away.

She spread her legs, allowing Sherlock to see that the tuft of hair didn't reach past her pubis bone, the area around her lips and clit were smooth and bare. He could see how pink and moist she was all ready.

"Here," she said, indicating the area between her thighs. "Almost any touch is appreciated."

She reached a hand down and spread her outer lips apart, baring the mound at the top for him to observe. She lifted the first finger of her other hand to her mouth and wet it with her tongue. Then she let the finger slide along her clit, rubbing circles around it, moaning and writhing as she masturbated for him. She let herself get close to orgasm, but stopped, moving her hands away. She opened her legs wider to allow Sherlock access.

She took his hand, placing a finger in her mouth to wet it, then placing the finger on her most sensitive spot.

Ri moaned as Sherlock copied the motions she performed on herself, then she abruptly pulled his hand away.

"Do you think you can do that with your tongue? I want your tongue on me and your fingers inside me," she practically begged.

He moved between her legs and slid his hands under her buttocks, pulling her to him. Sherlock had seen enough pornography to have a general idea of what to do. He buried his face in her, alternating between lightly flicking her clitoris and entering her with his tongue. Her pelvis ground against his face as she desperately strove for the friction that would allow her to orgasm.

Sherlock moved his face away long enough to pull one of his hands out from under her. He gently rubbed her engorged mound with his thumb, enjoying the moans of pleasure coming from above him. He took one of his long fingers and pressed it into her, feeling how tight and wet she was. This elicited one of the loudest moans yet. He plunged another digit into her, pumping in and out with two fingers now, still rubbing her with his thumb.

"Oh God, Sherlock," she cried. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

He could tell she was nearing climax, but he wasn't going to allow her to release yet. He removed his fingers and thumb and began to kiss back up her abdomen, lingering on her breasts. Her face was flushed and she was panting.

Ri could feel the hardness of his erection pressing into her leg. She grasped at his head and pulled him up to her. She wanted to taste herself on his lips and tongue.

"Please don't make me beg for you," she whispered. "I need you now. I need you inside of me."

Sherlock reached over to his nightstand and opened the drawer. He knew exactly what he was looking for and in short order pulled out a pack of condoms. They had been a gag gift from John on his last birthday. I'll have to remember to thank him later, he thought. He removed the condom from its package and was preparing to put it on when Ri stopped him.

"Let me," she said, taking the condom from him.

She expertly rolled the condom down his erection with her mouth, gently sucking until he thought he would explode.

She moved her mouth off his cock so she could speak.

"How would you like to do this? I could be on top, or you could. Or you could be behind me."

Sherlock considered. He lay down and motioned for her to mount him, which she did with pleasure. She slid the hot, tight wetness of her sheath down the length of him, clenching her interior muscles as she lowered herself onto him. She stayed still for a moment, allowing her to adjust to him filling her.

Ri began to slowly rock her hips, allowing the head of his cock to rub against her g-spot.

"Would you like to give me a hand, or would you prefer to watch me do it," she asked.

"I think I would like to watch you," he replied huskily.

Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on Ri as she began to massage her breasts, still grinding the tip of him against the bundle of nerves deep inside her. He could feel her tightening around him.

Ri dropped one of her hands between her thighs and began to massage the outer bundle of nerves, her muscles contracting more and more between the combination of her thumb on her clitoris and the head of his cock on her g-spot. She threw her head back, gasping at the intensity of the orgasm building in her.

"Oh God," she breathed again. "Oh God Sherlock, oh God."

The volume of her cries rose as the spasms spread from her groin, until it was just an indecipherable moan. She collapsed forward onto Sherlock's chest.

His lips found hers and he kissed her hard. He matched the pumping of his tongue in and out of her mouth with the pumping of his cock. He put his hands under her buttocks again and lifted them up and apart. He drove into her, hard and fast as the orgasm took her again. This time it was only a whimper of pleasure that escaped her lips.

As the spasms subsided again, she was able to look at Sherlock. His face and chest were covered in sweat. She licked the salty drops from his jaw.

He moved his arm around her waist, shifted his weight and rolled her over, so that he was on top of her. He kissed her again and roughly grabbed her breast. Her hands were in his hair again as she greedily pulled his mouth to hers. He slowed the intensity of his thrusts. He slid himself into her slowly, stopping as buried his length deep inside her, allowing her to savor every inch of him.

"Don't stop," she moaned softly into his ear.

She dug her nails into the skin of his back, trying to pull him farther into her.

Sherlock reached his arm under her right leg, bringing her knee to rest on his left shoulder, his hands digging deliciously into her hips. He began to thrust again, feeling the skin of his scrotum slap against her smaller, tighter entrance. His need to release was overtaking his desire to please her.

"Harder," she cried. "Harder."

He was no longer aware of anything except the tightness of her around him. He pounded his cock in and out, not caring if it hurt her. Her hips raised and bucked in rhythm with him. Her sheath contracting against him in orgasm again was what put him over the top. His whole body shuddered as the white-hot spasms of pleasure shot through him.

Sherlock vaguely felt Ri's hands moving up and down his back. He nuzzled his face into her cheek, softly kissing her ear. He lowered her leg and wrapped his arms around her waist, straining to stay inside her as the blood left his member. He rolled onto his back, pulling Ri with him, so that her head lay on his shoulder, her leg draped across his. Her hand lazily traced random patterns on his chest.

As they lay together, trying to catch their breath, Sherlock wondered at the emotions this woman made him feel. How he craved the touch of her against his skin. He kissed the top of her head, removed the condom and threw it in the bin next to his bed. Once again, he gently untangled himself from her and got out of bed, but this time it was only to turn out the light.


	7. Chapter 6

*****Usual disclaimer, I don't own any of the characters except Ri. Please leave me a review. I should have the next chapter up tonight or tomorrow night. More sexy time coming soon ;) ****

Sherlock reveled in the euphoria of his exhausted body. Drugs were the only thing he had ever experienced that calmed his mind and focused his senses like this. He could hear Ri's soft breathing and feel the expansion and deflation of her lungs as she lay pressed against his body. It seemed like he could feel each strand of her hair tickling his chest. The scent of her shampoo wafted pleasingly to his nose. He could still smell himself on her and it was intoxicating.

His mind was too active to sleep, but for once it wasn't because of a case. It was because of the woman lying next to him.

He lightly ran his fingers along the smooth skin at the back of her neck. She stirred.

"Careful," Ri said sleepily, raising her head to look at him. "I warned you how sensitive that area is, and I don't know that you've recovered enough for another round."

Sherlock leaned down and gently kissed her.

"Go to sleep," he chided her. "I only require a minimal amount to function efficiently, but I've seen the result when you don't get enough."

"Was your experiment successful," she asked in a mocking tone.

"I'm not sure. The best experiments require extensive testing to properly form a conclusion."

With that, she lay her head back on his shoulder and was asleep nearly instantly.

Sherlock thought back to his previous sexual encounters. The first had been mostly to see what the fuss was about. The experience had been clumsy and awkward, leaving him less than enthused about the entire process. There had only been two other women and he had been high, using them as objects to satisfy himself, then leaving them in whatever den of inequity he found them as soon as he was finished. None of his meager experiences compared to the intimacy he found with Ri. He desired her body and her mind.

Generally Sherlock found touching another human being distasteful. A quick handshake or the rare hug from one of his friends was endured, rather stiffly and churlishly, and contact was ended as soon as possible. He knew his friends found this behavior childish and petulant, but he couldn't, or wouldn't, change for them. What was it about this woman that made him break every rule he had for himself?

Even with the buzzing of his mind, the physical exhaustion took over and Sherlock drifted into an uneasy slumber.

In his dream, Sherlock stood on the roof of Bart's Hospital. Jim Moriarty laughed in his face, placed the gun to his mouth, and pulled the trigger. Suddenly, the body on the ground was John's and he was falling. Then he was standing outside Appledore, pulling the trigger on Charles Magnussen. This time, Mycroft didn't have time to call the hold fire and a hail of bullets tore through his body and John's. One by one, Sherlock saw the bodies of his friends, lifeless because of the danger he put them in. The sniper's bullet in Mrs. Hudson's head, Molly in the morgue with her throat slashed. Always Moriarty, laughing at him. Mycroft admonishing him about caring. He reached out to the people he loved, to shake them, to force them to be alive. He screamed, not only in the dream, but in the darkness of his bedroom.

Ri was was awake instantly. Sherlock's body was convulsing in terror as he fought the demons in his dreams. She put her arms around him, holding him like a child. She cooed soft words of comfort into his ear, trying too soothe him, but nothing she did pierced through the veil of sleep.

Ri was becoming more concerned by the moment. She tried to rouse him forcefully from his slumber, but the stress and exhaustion of the past few weeks had broken him.

In a slight panic, Ri did the only thing she could think of. She picked up Sherlock's mobile and dialed John's number.

"Sherlock?"

John's voice on the other end of the line was half asleep and confused. Sherlock never phoned, only texted.

"It's one a.m. and I have to work in the morning. What are you playing at?"

"It's Ri," she said shakily. "Something's wrong with Sherlock. How quickly can you get here?"

The confusion vanished from John's voice.

"What's wrong? Is he doing drugs again?"

"No, he's having some sort of nightmare and he won't wake up. I'm afraid he'll hurt himself."

"I'm on my way now. I'll be there in 30 minutes."

The line went dead.

Sherlock still thrashed about on the bed, moaning and crying out at the phantasms that haunted him. Ri resumed her earlier position, trying to keep him from moving too violently. As she held his sweat-slicked skin against hers, she remembered that she was also naked. The thought of John seeing her was of little concern, but she wasn't sure Sherlock would want his friend to know about their earlier tryst. Besides, it wasn't her place to inform him. She gently let him go and picked up one of the towels from the floor, trying to erase as much evidence as possible.

Ri's dressing gown from earlier were still in the bathroom. As long as she tied it tight, it would do to disguise the fact that she had been naked in his bed. She sat helplessly at his side, stroking his hair as he battled the fiends in his head.

Thank God John still has a key, Ri thought as she heard him bound up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"How long has he been like this," John asked, setting down the small valise he brought with him on the nightstand.

"Maybe 5 minutes before I called you. I tried to wake him up, but it's more like he's hallucinating than dreaming."

Ri was biting her lower lip, trying to keep up the charade of flatmate when all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around Sherlock and hold him close.

John immediately transformed from concerned friend to confident medical professional while examining Sherlock.

John lifted each of Sherlock's eyelids in turn, shining a light in them to check for responsiveness.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?"

There was no response. Ri left the room, unable to bear the pain of her lover any longer.

John found her in the kitchen a few minutes later.  
"I've given him some Haldol. That should calm him, but I'll stay to keep an eye on him."

John took a seat at the kitchen table and passed his hand tiredly over his eyes.

"Would you like some tea," Ri offered. "I'm rubbish at making it, but isn't it the thought that counts?"

"That would be great," he answered gratefully.

Preparing the tea gave Ri an opportunity to turn away from John, to hide the worry she was sure was etched on her face. Her shoulders sagged wearily as she put the kettle on.

She poured the hot water into two mugs and added the teabags. Earl Grey for John and chamomile for her. As much time as she spent in the U.K., she had never learned to like tea.

Ri winced slightly as she sat down, not noticing that her dressing gown had gaped slightly, exposing the top of her chest. She was a little sore from the evening's earlier activities.

John noticed the wince of pain and the deep purple bruise that had formed on her breast.

"Did he hurt you, thrashing about like that?"

She looked down at the bruise, her face turning a shade that could only be described as vermillion, and pulled the dressing gown closed.

"No," she stammered, refusing to look at him. "That was from something else."

"You should go to bed," he urged. "I'll look after him."

"No, I'll look after him. You should go home. You have to work in a few hours and your wife is probably wondering where you've got off to. I can call you if I need to."

John looked relieved.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I went to university. It wouldn't be the first time I've had to look after someone who'd been incapacitated."

"Ok, but call if you need anything. Thanks for the tea."

He grabbed his coat and left.

Ri stumbled into the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes and her hair was snarled from writhing on the bed. She reached for the flannel next to the sink and ran it under the cool water, using it to wash her face.

She left the bathroom and returned to the kitchen. She found a bowl, filled it with cool water and took it to Sherlock's bedroom with the flannel.

He looked much more peaceful. His curls were damp and his body was still beaded with sweat. She took the cool cloth and gently washed his face, then his neck and chest.

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and dazed. Sherlock's throat was raw. His eyelids felt like stone and he wasn't sure what was reality and what was dream. He tried to focus his thoughts, but the images kept jumbling together.

"Ri?"

"Shh," she whispered. "I'm here."

"What happened?"

"Nothing, go back to sleep."

She slipped out of her robe and hung it on the hook at the back of the door. Exhausted, Ri crawled into the bed next to Sherlock. He turned and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

"Don't leave," he whispered in her ear..

Ri entwined her fingers into his, brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it.

"I won't," she promised.


	8. Chapter 7

***Disclaimer, all characters are property of their respective owners. Please leave me a review! New chapter will be up by the end of the weekend****

Sunlight streamed into Sherlock's bedroom. The brightness wrested Ri from the comfort of a very pleasant dream. She couldn't remember what the dream was about, only the sense of peace and happiness it engendered. Sherlock's arms were still tightly wrapped around her, their fingers entwined.

Ri disengaged herself from his embrace, noting that he was sleeping soundly. He looks much more peaceful now, she thought. She got out of the bed and drew the curtains so he could sleep as long as he needed to. She donned her dressing gown and went to the kitchen to brew herself some coffee.

She curled up in Sherlock's chair, trailing her fingers across the soft leather. It smelled like him. Sighing, she reached for her laptop to resume her search across the zeros and ones of cyberspace for Moriarty.

Maybe, she thought, if I can find him the nightmares will stop.

It was nearly half past two when Sherlock woke. His body ached and his mind was still fogged. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and shut his eyes tight, trying to clear away the cobwebs in his brain. As his head began to clear, he rolled onto his side to reach for Ri, finding only emptiness.

Was that part of the dream, he wondered. Reality and dream were mixed together, nearly impossible for him to discern which was which. He thought he vaguely remembered John calling his name. But that had to have been the dream, John lived in the suburbs with Mary.

Sherlock sat up in bed, immediately regretting the decision as his vision swam and the room began to spin.

"Ri," he managed to croak out, before falling backwards.

The sound of him hoarsely calling out her name pulled Ri from some internet chatter she had been decoding. She nearly dropped her laptop in her haste to get to him.

"Sherlock," she queried as she entered his bedroom. "Is everything ok?"

He reopened his eyes, relieved that the room had stopped spinning.

"What happened," he whispered, finding that his throat was extremely raw. "I thought...but then...you."

Ri sat on the edge of his bed and took his hand in hers.

"You had another nightmare," she explained. "I tried to wake you, but I couldn't. I called John because I was afraid you were going to hurt yourself. He ended up giving you an injection of Haldol."

"Did he..."

A faint blush crept across his cheeks.

Ri smiled.

"No, I got dressed before he got here. He was more concerned about you than noticing if I was sharing your bed."

"So, we did..."

Ri bent down and kissed him gently.

"Yes, we did," she answered, finishing his thought for him. "Stay in bed. I'll go make you a cup of tea. You're getting honey instead of sugar. It will help your throat."

Sherlock made a face of disgust, but Ri was all ready in the kitchen.

She brought him his tea and a couple of Aspirin, then helped him sit up.

"Do you want me to join you," she asked, looking away shyly.

"Please," he answered, his voice made slightly stronger with the tea.

Ri settled against him and he put the arm not holding his tea around her, pulling her close to him.

"You know you make an awful cup of tea," Sherlock said, kissing the top of her head. "But thank you anyway."

Ri looked up at him in mock surprise.

"Stop the presses," she joked. "Sherlock Holmes just thanked someone for making him tea. I'm sure they will declare a national holiday for this!"

Sherlock looked away from her in embarrassment.

"I meant," he said stiffly. "Thank you for everything.

Ri curled tighter into Sherlock's chest.

"Anytime. Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm not really..." he started, taking a breath. "I'm not really, goodat expressing feelings. Especially ones that make me vulnerable."

"That's ok, just know that I'm here if you decide you want to."

"I think I'd like to go back to sleep for a bit. I'm still off from the medication."

"I can go if you'd like."

"No," Sherlock answered, quicker than he would have liked. "I'd...I'd rather you stay."

Ri smiled to herself and settled under the covers, her head on Sherlock's chest. She fell asleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Sherlock stayed awake a bit longer, wondering at the fact that holding this woman in his arms made him feel safe.


	9. Chapter 8

***Still don't own any characters except Ri. Please leave me a review!***

Night descended before Sherlock regained consciousness. He found himself pleased at the feeling of Ri's back against his chest, her body fitting against his like a puzzle piece. He lightly ran his fingers along her arm as she slept, letting his lips leave a trail of soft kisses down the back of her neck. She stirred and made a soft noise of contentment, pressing herself against him as she opened her eyes.

She rolled over to face him, using the contours of his chest and neck as a map for her lips to find his. Ri sucked hungrily on Sherlock's lower lip, the heat of desire growing steadily into an ache that only he could soothe.

Sherlock tangled one hand in her hair as he pulled her closer to him, the other traveling down her bare back until he was gripping her buttock. His mouth moved away from hers, down her neck and across her chest until he reached the fullness of her breasts. His tongue teased her nipple until it stood at attention. There was a sudden, delightful rush of warm breath against her breast as Sherlock gasped when he felt Ri's hand wrap around his shaft, slowly gliding up and down.

Their lips met again, insistent with desire. Sherlock moved his hand from Ri's arse and slid it between her legs. He was surprised at how wet she was in response to his touch against the most sensitive area of her body.

"Do you have any more of those condoms," Ri murmured into his ear.

Reluctantly, Sherlock took his hands off her body as he reached into the nightstand. He quickly had the packet open and rolled the condom over his quivering cock. The need to feel her surrounding him was almost painful. He was about to shift his weight to roll her over when she straddled him, moaning in pleasure as she lowered herself onto him.

The hot, tight wetness of her sheath around him caused his brilliant mind to go blank. She was the only thing that existed to him in that moment.

Ri began to grind her hips, allowing him to thrust slowly in and out of her. His long fingers gripped her hips, pulling her down to him as he entered her.

Sherlock watched her face as she neared the much needed release of orgasm. Her breasts bounced up and down with each movement of her body. When the spasms overtook her, Ri arched her back and threw back her head, screaming his name in ecstasy.

Hearing her cry out his name at the height of her pleasure brought Sherlock to the edge. He no longer cared about anything but his own need. Before she could fully recover from that first orgasm, she could feel it building again as he plunged himself into her deeper and harder. They shuddered together in simultaneous release.

When the emptiness of orgasm faded from Sherlock's mind, he opened his eyes to find Ri still straddling him, holding him inside of her, with a satisfied smile on her face. Her chest still heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. The dim light from the hall threw shadows across her body like an abstract painting.

"You look beautiful like that," he told her, stroking her thighs as they lay against the sides of his abdomen.

Ri leaned down to kiss him gently. He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her body close to his. He reached down and threw the used condom in the bin.

They lay together in a contented stupor, lost in thought and each other. The sound of someone coming up the stairs broke them from their reverie.

"Shit," exclaimed Ri, a look of panic on her face. "It's John."

"I'll handle this," Sherlock assured her as he got out of bed. "Stay here."

He grabbed his dressing gown and put it on as he left the bedroom.

Ri could here John calling for Sherlock as he entered the flat. Please don't let him come back here, she thought.

Sherlock met John in the kitchen.

"You all right," John asked.

"Yup."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Nope."

"You gave Ri quite a fright," John said accusingly. "I think you hurt her. She had a fairly bad bruise on her chest."

Sherlock could feel a blush creep over his face.

"Did I? She didn't say anything," he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

"Speaking of Ri, where is she? I wanted to make sure she was okay too."

Sherlock reached for the kettle to make a cup of tea, giving himself a moment to compose his response.

"Bed, I think," he answered calmly, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Well, tell her I stopped by and to give me a call if she needs anything. I should really get back to Mary and the baby."

Sherlock busied himself making the tea, trying to give John the hint that his presence wasn't wanted.

"Right, I'm off," John said walking out the door.

Sherlock sank into his chair in the sitting room with his tea. He wondered why it was so important that John didn't know Ri was in his bed. It wasn't because he was ashamed of sleeping with her, and he didn't think she would mind if John knew. It slowly dawned on him that it was because he wanted what happened between them to be _his_. He wanted to be sure that _Ri _was his before he shared it with his friend.

Ri waited until she heard the door shut downstairs before she left the bedroom. She peered around the hall door cautiously, looking for Sherlock.

"Is he gone," she asked shyly.

"Yes, I don't think he suspected anything."

"Oh."

She sounds disappointed, Sherlock thought curiously.

"I was going to grab a shower," she said. "Care to join me?"

His tea was forgotten as he rose to follow her to the bathroom.


	10. Chapter 9

Sherlock and Ri spent the entire next day in his bed, exploring each other's bodies, learning what sent the other to the heights of pleasure.

They had made love for the third time in so many hours. It had been slow and languid, more about savoring each other than any frantic need for orgasm. Not that neither of them reached the peak of pleasure, but it was secondary to the need to experience the other.

The text message alert from Ri's phone sounded loudly, disturbing their stupor. Ri reached for the phone and bolted out of bed at the contents of the message.

"What is it?"

"Remember how I set up a search algorithm to scan any internet-accessible camera for Moriarty?"

Sherlock nodded and sat up as she handed him the phone. On the screen was a photo of Moriarty taken by a surveillance camera. The timestamp on the photo was just four days ago and indicated that it had been taken in the Ukraine.

Ri took her phone back from Sherlock and immediately began trying to get a hold of her her contacts in Kiev as she walked up the stairs to her bedroom.

After setting up a few meetings for the next day with some of the shadowy underground informants she used, she grabbed an overnight bag and began packing. Once she was satisfied she had everything she needed she got dressed. With a last look at her room to ensure she hadn't forgotten anything, she was about to go back downstairs when her text message alert sounded again.

The message was from a blocked number. She hesitantly clicked on the icon to open it.

Miss me? Come to Kiev alone. Make sure Sherlock stays in London.

Damn, she swore to herself. I know he won't follow me to Kiev, but what the hell am I supposed to do when I get there?

Ri grabbed her bag and made her way down to the sitting room. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, eagerly texting away.

"I'm leaving," she said lamely, not knowing what else to say.

Without looking up from his mobile, Sherlock nodded in her direction, obviously lost in his search.

"I'll call if I find anything."

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise.

Ri sighed to herself as she left the flat. What was I expecting, she silently berated herself. She went to the street to hail a cab to take her to the airport.

The taxi pulled up and she was too lost in thought to think it was odd that the driver had gotten out and opened the door for her. She also didn't notice the syringe in his hand until she felt the sharp pain in her neck. She tried to fight off whatever drug he had given her, but it was a losing battle as she slumped into unconsciousness.

Ri was cold and sore, but she couldn't figure out why. Her head felt like it was full of cobwebs. She opened her eyes but all her brain could interpret from her surroundings was a bright light. She felt something cold and metal brush down her cheek.

"Rise and shine," a familiar voice said in her ear.

She tried to twist away from the voice, but found she couldn't move. When she tried to scream, it was choked back by the gag in her mouth. The effect of the drug was wearing off and this time when she opened her eyes she saw Moriarty's face laughing, just inches from her own. Ri tried to put a lid on the panic that was rising in her throat.

Moriarty slid the barrel of the gun across her breasts.

"You're a much prettier pet than Shelock's last companion. I could have a lot of fun with you."

Ri could only glare in response.

"I think it's time to let Sherlock in on the game. Smile for the camera."

Moriarty took a picture with Ri's mobile and sent it off with an evil smile.

Sherlock sat in his chair, eyes closed, fingers steepled in front of his mouth, lost in his mind palace. He was supposed to be searching for clues to find Moriarty, but all of the doors he opened seemed to lead to his bedroom and Ri in his bed. He was actually relieved to hear the text alert on his mobile. He picked it up and looked at the screen. Why was Ri sending him a picture message? She knew well enough that he wasn't interested in nude photos and she hadn't had time to make it to Kiev yet, so it couldn't be intelligence.

He opened the message and stared, mouth agape. The photo was of Ri, nude and bound to a chair, he could see the fear in her eyes. As he was about to scan the photo for clues as to it's origin, an incoming call from Ri interrupted him.

Sherlock answered and was about to ask her about the photo when the voice on the other end stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Listen very closely," Moriarty snarled. "I like your new pet. It would be a shame if anything were to _happen _to her. You have two hours to find her before I hand her off to my pet, Col. Moran. And if he gets a hold of her, you won't be able to identify her body when you find it."

The line fell silent as Moriarty ended the call. Sherlock was all ready out the door, his coat billowing behind him as he tore down the stairs. He took a deep breath and dialed the one number he hated more than anything.

Mycroft answered the call from his younger brother with a hint of annoyance.

"I've all ready spoken with Ri, I know all about Kiev."

"Shut up Mycroft," Sherlock bellowed into the mobile. "Moriarty has Ri. They have to be in London, she hasn't had time to make it to Kiev yet."

Mycroft's eyes widened at the panic in Sherlock's voice. Had something happened between the two of them? Surely his brother hadn't succumbed to the temptation of this woman. He could hear Sherlock hailing a cab in the background

"I will divert all of my resources to locating Moriarty's current whereabouts. Where are you going?"

"To rally the troops," Sherlock growled, then his voice softened, pleading. "Find her, please."


	11. Chapter 10

*******WARNING FOR NON-CONSENT! PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER IF THIS BOTHERS YOU!******

Sorry this chapter's so short, but I have to write a paper for Uni and it's due by 11 p.m. Hopefully I will have the next chapter up tomorrow night!

* * *

A door opened in the room where Ri was being held and a brutish-looking man walked in. He was taller than Moriarty, with a shaved head and a scar running down the right side of his face. He was aimlessly twirling a vicious-looking KA-Bar knife in his hand. His face broke into an evil leer when he saw the naked woman restrained in the chair.

"Oh Jim," the man intoned. "You do give me the best presents."

"Now, now Seb," Moriarty answered, checking his watch. "You can't play with it too rough for another hour and 56 minutes. But that doesn't mean you can't play gently."

Sebastian Moran laughed gleefully as he walked up to Ri. He held out the knife and ran the tip of it down her throat.

"Maybe a little bit rough," he asked Moriarty hopefully.

"I suppose a little bit rough couldn't hurt. Just don't break it yet."

The sharp edge of the knife sliced down her cheek, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. Moran moved the pointed tip to her exposed nipple, pressing it into the sensitive skin.

Ri didn't so much as whimper. She wasn't about to give this piece of shit the satisfaction.

"Can I remove the gag," Moran asked "It would be such a shame to muffle those delicious screams."

Moriarty shrugged.

"It's not like anyone can hear her. Do what you want. Just make sure it takes a long time."

Moran slit the gag in two, freeing it from her mouth with the knife. She spit in his face. Stars burst behind her eyes as he hit her, hard. Ri could feel blood trickling down her chin. Moran grabbed her hair, roughly pulling her head back as he pressed the tip of the knife into her throat.

"I like it when you fight," he hissed. "Makes the conquest that much better."

"Careful," Moriarty warned from the edge of the room. "You can't break it yet."

Pain exploded in Ri's abdomen as Moran hit her. She doubled over as much as the restraints would allow. He moved closer. Her skin crawled as she felt his breath against her. His hand roughly grabbed her jaw, forcing her mouth open. He stood up, unbuttoned his trousers with his free hand and pulled out his cock.

"I feel teeth and you won't have any," he growled, shoving his semi-flaccid penis between her lips. "Now be a good girl and you might make it out of here alive."

Ri was choking as he thrust himself into her mouth. She closed her eyes, willing her mind to be anywhere but that room.

Moran was now fully erect. He pulled it out of her mouth. He stood back, sliding the knife between Ri's legs, trying to force them apart. Every ounce of strength she had went into keeping her legs closed. He turned the knife so that the blade was against the soft skin of her inner thigh.

"Open wide," he snarled.

Ri didn't move, staring at him defiantly. She couldn't hold back a gasp as he sliced the tender skin open.

Moran stepped back and knelt down to where her ankles were bound to the chair. He cut away the ropes and went to forcibly open her legs. Ri saw the opportunity and took it. They thought she was weak, scared, but they were wrong. As soon as her legs were free she wrapped them around Moran's neck, twisting sharply. The crack of his neck breaking echoed in the room as his lifeless body slumped to the ground.

"NOOOOO," Moriarty screamed.

He ran across the room and began to mercilessly beat Ri with the butt of his gun. Between the beatings, the loss of blood and the after effects of the medication, she quickly slipped back into unconsciousness.


	12. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this up. I'm not really happy with this chapter, but here it is anyway! At least it shouldn't be too long for the next update! Please leave me a review!

* * *

Sherlock pounded frantically on the door to John and Mary's flat.

"It's bloody 3 a.m.," John said crossly as he peered through the crack he had opened the door. "You've woken Mary and the baby."

"Moriarty has Ri," Sherlock said, trying to keep the panic from his voice.

John was instantly wide awake. He opened the door fully to let his friend inside.

"Give me five minutes to get dressed. I assume I'll need my gun?"

Sherlock could only nod in response. He paced the hallway, silently begging John to hurry, while simultaneously trying not to imagine the horrible things Moriarty could be doing to Ri.

"Five minutes and thirty-six seconds," Sherlock scowled when John returned.

Before Sherlock could raise his hand to hail a cab, a sleek black car pulled up to the corner. For one of the first times in his life, he was actually grateful for his brother's interference. He pulled out his mobile as they entered the car to dial his brother, but stopped when he saw Mycroft's assistant, Anthea sitting in the back seat.

"I assume you've found them?"

"Yes," she answered without looking up from her mobile. "A strike team is en route and will meet us there. Your brother left strict instructions that you are not to enter the premises until they have been cleared."

They drove in silence, pulling up to an abandoned warehouse near the Thames.

"Do not get out of this vehicle," Anthea warned ominously.

"I'd like to see you try and stop me," Sherlock growled in response as he tried to open the door.

The car door wouldn't budge.

"Let. Me. Out," Sherlock hissed.

Anthea looked up from her mobile sympathetically.

"You know I can't," she responded.

"Damn my brother, let me out!"

Sherlock was getting hysterical. He couldn't fight the panic any longer.

"Please," he begged, unable to stop the tears forming in his eyes. "She's alone and afraid. God knows what Moriarty has done to her. I need to save her."

Anthea sighed.

"I hope she's worth it," she said, knocking on the glass to let the driver know to unlock the doors. "Don't get yourself killed."

Sherlock burst from the car, closely followed by John.

"Mr. Holmes," Anthea called, holding out a handgun. "This might come in handy. Let's just keep it between us though."

Sherlock gratefully accepted the weapon, turned and began to run for the entrance to the building.

He opened the door slowly, weapon at the ready. Every bit of his formidable mind focused on saving Ri. The room was seemingly empty and dark, save for a single overhead light at the far end. He eased into the building, his blogger right behind him. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he searched the space for any glimpse of the woman he was so desperately trying to save.

Caring is not an advantage, he heard Mycroft's voice echo through his head. Shut up, he told the voice. Do you love her, the voice of his elder brother mocked. Sherlock stopped momentarily to consider the question, still searching the room. How would I know, he snapped in his mind. Love is a societal concoction to placate the prudish masses into justifying the biological imperative to procreate.

Sherlock cautiously approached the lighted area of the building. He could see the lifeless body of Sebastian Moran on the ground. Then he saw her, still bound to the chair that had been tipped over by Moriarty's ruthless beating. Her body was bloodied and deep purple bruises were all ready blossoming across her pale skin.

All caution was tossed aside as he rushed to her side. She was still breathing. He gently bent down and released the bonds around her wrists. She stirred slightly at his touch, her body's natural response was to try and move away from what it perceived as a threat.

"Shh," he whispered, stroking her hair. "You're safe now. I have you."

He whipped his coat off and placed it around her naked body.

Ri opened her swollen eyes at his words. She desperately tried to focus on the person speaking to her.

"Sherlock," she tried to get the word out of her battered lips.

"I'm here. You're safe. I won't let him hurt you anymore."

As Sherlock comforted Ri, John's eyes swept the room, keeping alert for any signs of danger. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement about 10 feet to his left. His military training kicked in and he fired at the movement.

Sherlock jumped up at the sound of the gun firing, his own weapon drawn and ready. He followed John to where he stood over Moriarty's body.

As his life slowly drained away, Moriarty smiled at the consulting detective.

"I still win," he whispered with his last breath.

Noise erupted in the silence of the empty building as Mycroft's response team descended. Sherlock returned to Ri's side, trying to calm her.

"I need a medic over here," he yelled, stroking her hair.

Sherlock felt himself being pushed aside as John rushed to his aid.

"I need to examine her," John said gently, removing the coat covering Ri.

Ri was suddenly swarmed by emergency medical personnel and lifted onto a stretcher.

"Sherlock," she whispered, reaching for him. "Don't leave me."

"I won't," he answered, taking her outstretched hand.


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, but I haven't slept in 2 days and I wanted to make sure you got an update. Thanks to , gwilwillith and everyone else for the lovely reviews. We're nearing the end of our story, but that doesn't mean the roller coaster is over yet!**

**Once again, I don't own anything but Ri and the story!**

* * *

Ri was very confused when she opened her eyes. She didn't know where she was and her whole body hurt. She tried to look around the room to discern her location, but even that small movement made her groan in pain. Suddenly she remembered what happened to her and panic raced through her. She tried desperately to sit up, to escape.

A hand lightly caressed her own. She followed the arm attached to the long fingers stroking the back of her hand, up to Sherlock's face. She could see the bags and dark circles under his eyes and the thick layer of stubble around his chin. His normally perfect ebony curls were out of control, as though he had been running his hand through them for days. He looked as though he had aged 10 years.

"Sherlock," she croaked, her throat raw and dry. "Where am I?"

"Shh, love. You're safe. You're in hospital."

"Moriarty?"

"Dead," he answered flatly. "And this time, he won't be coming back."

She relaxed at his words, her brain becoming fuzzy and eyelids suddenly heavy from the pain medication.

"Thank you," she murmured before slipping back into the blissfully dreamless sleep.

He watched her sleep, grateful for relief provided by the combination of medication and his words. She looked so small and delicate and _helpless_ in the hospital bed. Sherlock almost wished John hadn't killed Moriarty, so he could make the man suffer - like Ri had suffered. He wished that the death had been slow and painful, and at _his_ hands. He let out a frustrated sigh.

How had this happened? Sentiment was for fools, attachments were dangerous. Hadn't that been Moriarty's point? First the threat against John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade that made him fake his own death. Now, somehow this woman had found his way into his life. He hadn't lost her to Moriarty, but it was time to be honest. He was losing her anyway. Case closed and, as soon as she was well enough, she would be on the first flight back to the States. Back to her life. He lay his head down on the bed next to her hand, which he was still grasping for dear life.

The next time she woke, Ri saw Sherlock, asleep with his head resting near her hand. She disentangled her hand from his and ran it through his hair. He stirred, looking up at her drowsily.

"Go home," she said, a faint smile on her bruised lips. "Eat something, take a shower and get some sleep. Considering the amount of guards Mycroft has certainly stationed around the hospital, I'll be safe."

"No," he answered. "I'm not leaving."

"Then at least have someone bring you a change of clothes and find a shower!"

"Fine."

Sherlock pulled out his mobile and texted John, asking that he go by Baker Street and bring him a change of clothes and his shower things.  
He felt surprisingly better after the shower and shave, and he definitely smelled better. He returned to Ri's room and saw that she had managed to convince the doctors to remove her IV.

"Better," he asked.

"Much," she replied. "You still need to eat something and sleep for something close to a week though."

He noticed her wince slightly as she moved over on the hospital bed. She looked at him expectantly, but he was at a loss to understand what she was waiting for.

"Come here," she ordered.

"I can't," he replied, finally grasping her meaning. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Please," she said, looking away. "I feel...I feel safer if you're with me."

Sherlock nodded and gently lay down beside her. They slept peacefully, his long fingers tangled in hers.

Ri was released from hospital two days later, with strict admonishments to stay in bed for at least the next week and to take it very easy for six weeks after that. The hospital tried to give her a list of home-nurses that could care for her while she was recovering, but Sherlock flatly refused to let anyone besides himself and John near her.

"I am quite competent to handle your recovery," he insisted. "Besides, we have our own personal physician on call."


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N: Our story is almost at an end :( Last chapter should be up by the end of the week. Please leave me a review. If there's a story you'd like to see me write, send me a prompt here or on tumblr! My username is the same there as it is here!**

**Once again, I own nothing except the story and Ri! Everything else is property of Mofftiss!**

* * *

Sherlock helped Ri out of the taxi in front of 221B. She leaned heavily on his arm to make it in the door. As she tried to take the first stair, she felt his arms around her waist and behind her knees as he lifted her to his chest and carried her up the stairs.

He gently laid her on his bed, making sure not to do any more damage to her battered body.  
"Sherlock," she began, confused as to why he had placed her in his room and not her own.

"My room is more convenient," he cut her off. "No stairs, and I can easily hear you from anywhere in the flat if you require anything."

Even to him, the logical arguments rang false, but she only smiled at him.

"Are you sure that's the only reason you want me in your bed?"

"Yes," he answered curtly. "You need rest."

"Actually, what I need is a bath. A real, proper bath. There's only so much a sponge bath can do and I'm pretty sure I would actually murder someone for the chance to wash my hair."

Sherlock considered her request, then nodded.

"Stay here whilst I draw your bath. Then I will assist you to the bathroom."

Ri giggled to herself as he left the room. He really was clueless, wasn't he. But she couldn't deny the fact that he was still being sweet in his own way.

He helped her undress and lower herself into the deliciously warm water. She couldn't help letting a small groan of pleasure escape her lips as the heat began to relax away some of the bruising and the stress of her ordeal began to slip away. She tried to sit up to reach for her shampoo, but it was too far. Silently, Sherlock reached for the bottle, poured some in his hand and began to tenderly massage it into her hair. Then he proceeded to softly wash the rest of her body until she squirmed uncomfortably under his ministrations.

"Did I hurt you?"

The concern in his eyes was evident.

"No," Ri replied, smiling to reassure him. "You didn't hurt me. But I'm pretty sure that's my second favorite thing you can do to me with your hands."  
"Oh," he said, then the meaning behind her words sunk in. "Oh."

Sherlock helped Ri from the bath, got her dried off and safely ensconced in his bed once again. He stayed with her until she fell asleep, gently rubbing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. Once he was sure she was actually asleep he walked to the kitchen, deciding a cup of tea would be nice.

John was sitting on the sofa when Sherlock entered the sitting room.

"So," John began. "Anything you want to tell me?"

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock's voice was icy and irritated. John ignored the clear warning that what he was asking was something not to be discussed.

"You show up at my door at 3 a.m., panicking because Moriarty has your _flatmate_. You don't leave her side while she's in hospital. And now she's in your bed."

"I was merely concerned because Moriarty was an extremely dangerous madman. I would have done the same for anyone who had been subjected to the same situation."

"Really? You were terrified. If it hadn't been someone you care about, you would have been excited by the thought of a case. And, as soon as it was over, you would have been back in the flat, all ready looking for the next one. Admit it, you feel something for her."

Sherlock looked horrified at the thought.

"It doesn't matter," he said, unable to face his friend as he spoke. "Moriarty is dead, her work here is done and as soon as she's able, she will be back in the States. She'll go back to her life and try her hardest to forget that any of this ever happened."

"Tell her," John urged. "Maybe she'll chose to stay."

"I can't. What can I offer her? A reminder of what happened to her. I don't do attachments, I barely have friends..." Sherlock's voice trailed off.

"Let that be her choice," John said gently. "How will she know there's even a choice if you don't tell her?"

"No," Sherlock said forcefully. "She needs to go home. Live a real life, find a man that deserves her. This subject is closed."

Sherlock stormed out of the flat.

John shook his head. His friend really had it bad, something he thought he would never see.

The six weeks of prescribed recovery were almost over. Ri was able to move about the flat on her own, and had even ventured to the shop when she discovered her choices for lunch consisted of moldy bread or something fuzzy and green that had once been take away.

The bruises had faded, the only physical reminders were the angry red scars from Moran's knife, yet Sherlock insisted on her staying in his bed. He never touched her while she was awake, but sometimes he would slip under the covers next to her and wrap his arm around her waist when he thought she was asleep, softly stroking her hair.  
Ri sat in the middle of her bedroom, surrounded by piles of clothes she was trying to cram into her suitcase. Mycroft was sending a car for her in the morning to take her to a private airport. At least this time, she thought, the Crown was springing for a chartered jet to send her home.

When she had finished packing, she returned downstairs to find Sherlock pouting in his chair. This is ridiculous, she thought. Genius 4-year-old indeed. What's next, is he going to start pulling my pigtails?

"Sherlock? I was about to make something to eat, would you like anything?"

He ignored her. The sound of her voice echoed unpleasantly through his head, even looking at her made him ache in a place he couldn't define.

Ri made a decision. She walked over to him and lowered herself into his lap, straddling him. He looked at her in surprise.

"We need to talk about this," she said.

"There's nothing to talk about," he replied, unable to look her in the eye.

"Yes, there is. I don't know what's going on with you, but it's driving me mad! You stay with me in hospital, insist on me sleeping in your bed, I find myself in your arms when you think I'm sleeping, but when I'm awake you ignore me!"

For the first time in weeks, he looks directly at her. He can see the pain and confusion in her eyes.

"I thought you wouldn't want me anymore. I'm the reason all of this happened to you."

"No," she answered firmly. "Moriarty is the reason this happened. You can't blame yourself. It's not like I expected rainbows and puppy dogs when I took this assignment. In my line of work, danger is part of the job description."

"Did Moran..."

He couldn't finish the question. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know the answer.

"No, he didn't. But it wasn't for lack of trying. He untied my legs and I used the opportunity to break his neck."

She reached out a hand to brush a stray curl from his forehead. She took a deep breath and continued.

"And even if he did, that would have no bearing on wanting to be with you."

Her words awoke the dragon he was so desperately trying to subdue. His lips were on hers, trying to tell her everything his voice couldn't. She tangled her hands in his curls, turning to putty as his hands danced over her body. They couldn't get out of their clothes fast enough.

As soon as she could, she wrapped her hand around his length, giving it a few quick strokes until he was harder than he had ever been. She guided him to her entrance, all ready hot and wet, and slid herself down down his cock. He moaned her name as she tightened her walls around him. He couldn't control himself any longer, his thrusts became more erratic as he pressed himself in and out of her, striving for the release he knew was close. Her internal spasms pushed him over the edge, his orgasm so intense he saw stars.

They collapsed against one another in the chair while the post-sex hormones made their way out of their bodies. Then Ri just lay in Sherlock's lap because she could, running her hand up and down his arm as it draped across her bare legs.

"When was the last time you slept," she asked.

"What day is it?"

She stood up and held out her hand for him.

"Let's go to bed."

He obligingly followed her to his bedroom. This time he didn't wait for her to fall asleep, but wrapped his arms tightly around her as soon as they reached the bed. He pulled her to him and laid her head on his chest. He fell into one of the soundest sleep he'd had in months.


End file.
